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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29001843">such an ugly thing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/van1lla_v1lla1n/pseuds/van1lla_v1lla1n'>van1lla_v1lla1n</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>naïve [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Succession (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bad Sex, Boss/Employee Relationship, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Pegging, Post-Season 2, background Shiv/Willa, fruit: sexier than sex, poorly negotiated open marriage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:22:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,300</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29001843</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/van1lla_v1lla1n/pseuds/van1lla_v1lla1n</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Shiv and Tom finally try out Shiv's gift. It goes about as you'd expect. He takes it out on Greg.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Greg Hirsch/Tom Wambsgans, Siobhan "Shiv" Roy/Tom Wambsgans</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>naïve [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2117133</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>such an ugly thing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>pls see endnote for more on consent issues</p><p><i>Previously in the series.</i> Part 1: Shiv gives Tom a strap-on for an anniversary gift. Part 2: Shiv and Willa hook up while Connor flops in a primary debate.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tom strode past the breakroom, spotted a figure inside, and backpedaled. “Greg, you <em>barbarian</em>. Get a plate.”</p><p>Greg was hunched over the sink, biting into a pear. He emitted some sound that Tom assumed stood in for an apology, and with it escaped some of the juice from the overripe fruit. He stooped farther over the sink before it dripped onto his shirt. Tom scoffed.</p><p>“My office, please, Muffin Man.” Greg shoved the last too-large bite in his mouth, tossed the core, and turned to follow Tom, who held up a hand, scowling. “Wash your hands first.”</p><p>He left Greg in the breakroom and was leaning back in his desk chair before Greg got there.</p><p>“I need you to consult on something.”</p><p>“Consult? Um, okay? Like, on what, though? And is this going to carry an additional hourly fee? Because, like, since I don't really work for you anymore—”</p><p>“First of all, Greg, this is strictly confidential. Got it?” He held out a Post-It, and Greg reached for it. Tom held on. “Got it?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.</p><p>Greg nodded earnestly. “Yeah, dude. You got it. Hundred percent confidentiality, uh, guaranteed.” Tom let go, and Greg read his notes, glancing up at Tom in surprise. “Preparations? For—for, um. You want me to, uh? For you?” he said.</p><p>“Research, Greg. Research and gather. And don’t go blabbing about this. You’re lucky I’m trusting you.”</p><p>“Lucky?”</p><p>“Look, just have a kit to me by the end of the day, yeah? And don't use the company computers.”</p><p>“Yeah, okay. But are you sure—like, first of all, who is this for? And what’s your timeline here? Are you looking at, like, like, today? Or—”</p><p>“Who and when are need-to-know issues, Greg. Don't stick your nose up my ass.”</p><p>“Dude, I'm not, but, like, I’m not quite certain that all this can be done satisfactorily, you know, in the available hours, uh, post-work and pre-coitus?”</p><p>“How the fuck would you know, Greg?”</p><p>Greg floundered.</p><p>“Listen, it's not for you, buddy. That's all you need to know. Run along, now. And don’t fuck this up.”</p>
<hr/><p>Shiv tossed a bottle of lube at Tom. “Here,” she said. “Relax. Finger yourself. Or whatever.” They were sitting naked in bed, the room just slightly too cold. Tom had left his socks on.</p><p>His eyebrows slanted, he looked between her and the little bottle. “Don’t you think we should—I mean, do you want to . . . you know, get a little into it? Warm up a little?”</p><p>“No,” she said. “I wanna watch you.” She smiled encouragingly and knelt between his legs as he shuffled down onto his back, bending up his knees, reached down his front with lube cupped in his hand and then around behind his thigh, trying to reach his ass.</p><p>In truth she couldn’t really bear to watch, and she busied herself lubing up the bulbed end of the dildo and easing it into her cunt. She saw Tom crook one finger into himself, hesitantly, his dick flagging on his belly. Even if this had been her idea, the thought of touching Tom's ass with her own skin made her a little queasy. She closed her eyes, shifting up on her knees to fuck herself a little with the dildo, leaning into that sensation instead of the sight of Tom’s clumsy thick finger in his ass, the lube dripping down onto their sheets.</p><p>After a few minutes she opened her eyes, smiled, said “Ready?” Like she was a gynecologist, checking if her patient was undressed and had their dignity covered under a thin starched sheet. Tom didn’t even have that—just his socks. He tried to smile back at her and nodded.</p><p>“You ready to fuck this tight hole?” he said, and Shiv winced.</p><p>“Maybe just—I think, no dirty talk today?” she said.</p><p>“Oh. Sorry, yeah, no—alright,” he said, his voice a notch too high. “Sorry.”</p><p>“It’s okay, honey,” she said. “I’m just trying to get into it.”</p><p>“I know, I was just—you know, trying to set the mood?”</p><p>“Uh huh. And that’s—it’s just maybe not quite the right environment, this time? But . . . yeah. You ready?” She shuffled forward on her knees, squeezed more lube onto the other end of the dildo. She looked down between Tom’s legs and swallowed, lining up. Tom reached for her wrist with his lube-sticky fingers and she flinched away.</p><p>“Not that one,” she said, and he apologized, held his hand out to the side, fingers curled, like he didn’t know where else to put it, then finally tucked it under his the small of his back. He clutched his other hand in a fist over his chest.</p><p>Shiv notched the head of the dildo against his freshly shaved asshole and imagined Willa’s cunt stretching around it instead. When she reached down to pat his hip encouragingly as she eased forward, his skin felt too hairy, too coarse under her hand. She looked up at Tom’s face, saw his eyes squeezed shut like a child waiting for a shot. She pressed in a little and his lips went white; she struggled to keep the distaste off her face.</p><p>She wanted him to take her cock and <em>want</em> it. Tom always took whatever she threw at him, but always tainted by this miasmic <em>I have to</em>, as in, <em>I have to so that you’ll love me—I have to so that you won’t forget I’m still here—I have to because I need you and I want you to need me too, whatever it takes.</em></p><p>And it was nice, sometimes, to be able to toss off her anger, her disgust, her frustration, at Tom, and know he’d take it without expecting it to be paired with remorse. She never had to save room for all that inside herself because Tom would take it, just like he took her phone whenever she didn’t feel like carrying a handbag. But convenience wasn’t terribly sexy.</p><p>“Take it, Tom,” she said. “You can do it.” She hated herself for knowing the right words. She pressed in a little more, nearly halfway in, and Tom whimpered, painfully pathetic, and slung an arm over his face, holding his breath.</p><p>“Relax,” she said, and she knew she sounded frustrated but she couldn’t hold it back anymore. What had Tom spent all that time as the family whipping boy for if he couldn't take a literal dicking down now?</p><p>“I’m trying,” he said, petulant.</p><p>“I think it’ll feel good if we can just get it in. Just relax. You’re supposed to, like, push out. Did you try—”</p><p>“I know, I just—I’m trying. It’s not—not a natural feeling, putting something <em>in</em>, like this. It’s not exactly comfortable, Shiv. I’m trying.”</p><p>“Okay, well, just take a few breaths. It’s okay,” she said impatiently.</p><p>“Whatever, Shiv. Just stick it in. Get it over with.”</p><p><em>Fine</em>, she thought, and she pressed forward, not mercilessly but not slowly either, and Tom gasped like some scandalized schoolmarm, his face all screwed up and his chest blotchy. She wondered if she could convince him it’d be sexy for him to let her gag him, stuff a towel in his mouth or something. Tom took shallow breaths and she started to pull out—maybe if they could get a rhythm going it’d help. She’d gotten that one good thrust in and the motion had felt so natural; she felt like she’d sparked deep in her hips this primal need to fuck something, to dominate. And if Tom would just <em>take it—</em></p><p>“Okay—no, no, no,” he said, hand splayed out over his face. “I can’t. Stop, please. Please.” And why was it so sexy, by comparison, when Willa begged? When this just made her slightly nauseous?</p><p>“Fine. Sorry,” she said, and slipped out. She stood and reached down carefully to pull the other end out of herself with a grimace, avoiding the long end slicked up with ass lube.</p><p>“Let me go wash up,” she said, and left him curled up on the bed. She cleaned and sanitized the dildo, rinsed off in the shower, careful to keep her hair dry, and stood in front of the mirror in a towel, thinking about Willa’s smooth knees, her long, soft hair, her perfectly waxed cunt, the hipbones Shiv could grasp while she fucked her. She dressed quickly in the walk-in closet off the bathroom, found her phone, sat at the end of the bed to send Willa a message. Tom hadn’t moved.</p><p>“Honey?” he said, when she got up. “Everything alright? I’m sorry it didn’t work out this time, I just—”</p><p>“It’s alright, Tom,” she said. “You just need to relax a little, yeah? We’ll try again later, some other time, but I gotta—I’ve gotta run out, honey, I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Out? Right now? But we just—”</p><p>“I know, Tom. I’m sorry.” She bent over and kissed his head, patted his clammy bare shoulder. “Love you. I’ll see you later. Take a shower or something, you’ll feel better.”</p><p>“Alright,” he said. “Love you.”</p>
<hr/><p>Tom paced toward Greg’s office and stuck his head in the door, snapping his fingers.</p><p>“Hey, buddy. My office. 5:30.”</p><p>“Okay, but, but that’s after-hours?”</p><p>“Yeah, and who’s on thin ice here? Me or you?” He looked at Greg pointedly. “I’m not the one who fueled an insurrection, yeah? 5:30, Greg.”</p><p>In his office Tom rolled up his sleeves and paced and leaned against his desk and waited. He tried to channel dominant-horny, the potent, god-like variety he sometimes felt. But instead he was stuck in a rut of arousal verging on panic, a flighty rabbit hoping for one last fuck before it got hit by a car.</p><p>Greg stepped in hesitantly twenty minutes later with a briefcase of all things.</p><p>“Set that down,” Tom said. “And shut the door.”</p><p>“Is this about . . . ?”</p><p>Tom had no idea what Greg could possibly be implying. “No. Come here,” he said, beckoning with a finger. “On your knees,” he said when Greg stood in front of him. Greg tilted his head and Tom could just tell he was going to whine.</p><p>“Dude—”</p><p>“Shut up, Greg. Kneel.” Greg pursed his lips and shook his head and obeyed, sitting back on his heels and looking up at Tom. “Open your mouth," Tom said.</p><p>Greg tilted his head again, and Tom snapped his fingers. “<em>Greg</em>,” he said, and Greg obeyed, with a petulant little wiggle of his chin. Tom took a shaky breath and unzipped his pants and Greg just stared up at him.</p><p>“Dude, you’re not even—do you even want this?” Greg said.</p><p>“Well, then, fix it, Greg. Put that fat traitor mouth to good use for once.” Greg blinked, then leaned forward and took Tom’s half-hard cock in his mouth, resting his hands on Tom’s knees.</p><p>“Hands off, Greg.” Tom said, lifting a foot to nudge the hand off his other knee. Greg set his hands on his own thighs instead and sucked Tom’s balls into his mouth with his still-soft cock and Tom huffed out a breath, gripped the edge of his desk, as he felt himself filling out Greg’s mouth. Greg pulled back to suckle at the head of his cock, eyes closed, licking over the slit and sucking softly at the ridge underneath, and it was so gentle that Tom felt the muscles under his eyes twitch, his sinuses sting, and then he was crying, on his knees, his face pressed into Greg’s shoulder.</p><p>“Tom?” Greg said, patting his shoulder blades. “It’s fine, man. I can—if you just need . . . We’re good. You’re good, dude.”</p><p>Tom sobbed.</p><p>“Tom. We’re good, man. It’s okay. It’s fine. We’re friends, right?” He held Tom’s shoulders tight, and every too-kind thing he said made Tom gasp for breath, drooling onto Greg’s shirt.</p><p>“I know things have been, like . . . tense, or whatever, since the press conference. But you’re still one of my best friends, man. And if this—if this is part of that, for you, then, like, okay. Like, I feel like something's going on with you? But if this helps? Then, like, okay. You know?” Tom took deep shuddering breaths, trying to calm himself down. He leaned back and wiped hopelessly at the spit and tears pooled on Greg’s shoulder.</p><p>He started to tuck himself back into his pants, not meeting Greg’s eye, but Greg caught his wrist. “Wait. I can—do you want me to help you finish?” Greg said.</p><p>Tom pulled his arm away and righted his clothes, shaking his head. “You don’t need to do that, Greg. Thank you. You can go.” He stood up and stepped back behind his desk, but Greg followed, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Tom shook him off.</p><p>“I said you can go, Greg. It’s after-hours. Go.” Greg hesitated, fidgeting with a stack of papers on the corner of Tom’s desk, and Tom felt his embarrassment turn into rage, rising up in his chest. “Get the fuck out, Greg,” he said, his fingernails cutting into his palms. “Get the fuck out!”</p><p>And Greg picked up his stupid briefcase, tiny in the stupid collection of knuckles he called a hand, and darted out. Tom collapsed in his desk chair and spun to face the window, head in his hands. He thought of the pear juice that had dripped guileless down Greg’s chin in the breakroom the day before, the way Greg had leaned prim over the sink to keep it off his shirt. He thought of the way he’d torn his teeth through the fruit he bought Shiv for their anniversary, lying pathetic on the couch, and the sticky rivulets it had left on his neck—the way he'd still smelled like pears when he woke up the next morning, alone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>consent cw: Tom forces Greg to give him a blowjob; Greg says he was okay with it after, but Tom ignores him/talks over him when he protests beforehand.</p><p>I forget to say this sometimes but you can find me <a href="https://van1lla-v1lla1n.tumblr.com/">on Tumblr</a> if you have concerns about tagging/triggers/etc. I'm always happy to add tags or content warnings. (You can also just came say hi there tooooo)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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